The Man in the Iron Mask: Anne and D'Artagnan
by silvia.c
Summary: This is a work in progress, and one that will take me a long time to finish. Please be patient, and R&R!
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **None of these characters are owned by me, and I intend no copyright infringement. I'm just a fan borrowing from the storyline for entertainment purposes._

_I have strayed from Randall Wallace's storyline a little, but his version of events is what this is based on. Enjoy, and please review!_

ONE

'Captain.' D'Artagnan turned to see Lieutenant Andre striding towards him across the Musketeer's courtyard. 'Captain, the casualty list from the front arrived.' D'Artagnan nodded absent-mindedly and took the sheet of paper from the Lieutenant, but continued to read the report on the threat of peasants to the king that he held in his other hand. When he noticed that the Lieutenant was waiting for him to read the casualty list he sighed and rubbed his forehead, grimacing slightly. His eyes scanned down the page, noting with regret the names of a few men he knew. And then his eyes came to rest upon one in particular. He turned sharply to the Lieutenant, who dipped his head in understanding.

'Does Athos know of this?' D'Artagnan asked.

'I do not know Captain,' came the reply. 'We ourselves only received it several hours ago.'

'Damn it!' D'Artagnan cursed, and Andre raised his eyebrows, for it was uncharacteristic of the Captain of the Musketeers to blaspheme. 'Lieutenant, get somebody to saddle my horse,' he ordered. 'I must go and inform Athos of this personally.' He pushed the paper he was holding into the Lieutenant's hands and began to stride towards the palace steps.

'Captain!' Andre called. D'Artagnan wheeled around, impatience on his face.

'What?'

'Athos,' Andre replied, pointing towards the gates. D'Artagnan's brow furrowed with sadness as he watched his old friend ride angrily through the gates. He dismounted and walked straight for D'Artagnan, who was himself already moving purposefully towards his friend.

'Athos,' D'Artagnan began. 'Athos, I am so sorry…'

'You traitor,' Athos hissed, and he swung his right arm up and hit D'Artagnan squarely in the face, nearly causing the younger man to fall. Within seconds there were members of the Musketeers drawing their weapons on all sides, angrily prepared to protect their Captain. Athos too drew his sword and defiantly swung at his attackers who gallantly fought back. D'Artagnan, recovered from the shock of being hit by his friend, recognised that Athos would be killed if he didn't intervene, and so he leapt onto the grieving man's back, forcing him to the ground, yelling at his men to cease the attack.

'Athos,' he said forcefully. 'Athos, stop it please. All of you, back away!' The two men lay on the ground, breathing heavily, surrounded by a ring of musketeers with their swords drawn.

'D'Artagnan,' Athos growled. 'Your king killed my son.' He pulled angrily away from the Captain's grip, and stood, angrily facing him. 'I will kill your king.' D'Artagnan spread his hands apologetically.

'Athos, I don't know what to say. I hope with all my heart that there is some other explanation. I will speak to the king directly about it.'

'You said you would speak to the king directly about ensuring Raoul's safety!' Athos spat. 'And look what good came of it.' D'Artagnan flinched, visibly stung by the words of hatred that came from his friend.

'Athos, I am sorry. I'm sure it is a misunderstanding…'

'Misunderstanding! D'Artagnan, my son is _dead_! You are not a father – there is no way you can know the pain that I feel. All you know is your loyalty to that… That spoilt little _boy_!' D'Artagnan nodded

sadly, his eyes lowered.

'You are right Athos. Fatherhood is a blessing I have no knowledge of, and I cannot begin to understand what you feel. But I too cared for Raoul, and I too am angered by his death. I suggest you go home and rest, and do not attempt to kill anybody. We will forget that you were ever here.'

'Am I suppose to be indebted to you now, for allowing me to go free? I would rather hang than be indebted to you!'

'Athos, please! I will get to the bottom of this for you. You have my word.' Athos spat on the ground at D'Artagnan's feet, prompting a ripple to go through the musketeers surrounding them.

'Your word means nothing to me,' he said, turning on his heel. D'Artagnan watched as his friend rode away, and then turned to the young men surrounding him.

'You are not to tell the king that Athos was here. Do you understand?' The men nodded, and D'Artagnan sighed heavily. 'Good,' he murmured. He hesitated for a moment, and then turned and walked purposefully towards the palace. In the main foyer he met Laurent, Louis' chief advisor, and

beckoned to him. 'Where is the king?'

'He is in his office, Captain,' Laurent replied as he flipped through papers. D'Artagnan nodded.

'Thank you.' He headed up the stairs and along a long corridor before coming to rest in front of two large, gold doors. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then knocked.

'Enter,' the king called. D'Artagnan let himself into the office and closed the door behind him. 'Ah, D'Artagnan,' Louis said, looking up from where he was sitting at his desk. 'I have been meaning to talk to you.'

'Your Majesty?'

'To whom do I speak if I want to make a recommendation for a lady-in-waiting for my mother?'

'I suspect you would speak to Her Majesty, sire,' D'Artagnan replied. Louis nodded.

'Yes, but D'Artagnan I am not making a recommendation for a lady-in-waiting. I simply want the correct paperwork to summon the woman here to the palace.' D'Artagnan looked at the king carefully.

'Sire, if I may…'

'What is it?'

'Is it possible that the woman whom you wish to summon is Christine Bonnet?' Louis smiled.

'You watch me too closely, D'Artagnan,' he scolded. D'Artagnan bowed his head and took a deep breath.

'Your Majesty, I received news today that Raoul, son of Athos was killed on the front line.' Louis raised his eyebrows.

'You don't say.'

'Sire… Did you order Raoul killed to clear the way to this woman?' Louis frowned and stood up, angrily facing his head bodyguard.

'How dare you, D'Artagnan.' D'Artagnan dipped his head in respect.

'Forgive me, but Athos is one of my oldest friends, and he suspects that you are responsible for his son's death – I simply want to be able to put his mind at ease.'

'You know that you can do that, D'Artagnan. I really don't see why you felt the need to ask me such an insulting question. I am not the sort of person who would do such a thing.' D'Artagnan stared apprehensively at the young king, for they both knew that he was exactly the sort of person who would do such a thing.

'Of course, your Majesty.' Louis sighed impatiently and glanced at some papers on his desk.

'Have the appropriate papers for Mademoiselle Bonnet brought to me.' D'Artagnan nodded.

'Of course.'

'Will there be anything else?'

'No your Majesty.'

'Then please leave me be,' the irritated king said, and D'Artagnan turned, relieved to have permission to leave the office that somehow reeked of injustice. He closed the door behind him and then walked down the corridor and into his own office, where he slumped into the chair behind his desk and put his head into his hands. He had no idea what he would tell Athos – there was no way that he could defend Louis' actions without sounding as though he condoned the behaviour, which he absolutely did not. It seemed as though his friendship with Athos may be entering some dangerous territory. He leaned forward and glanced irreverently at the map of the grounds laid out before him, and wondered whether it wouldn't just be better for everyone if he let the next assassin complete his task. He sighed, knowing that if he was indeed put into another position of having to save Louis' life, that he would do so wholeheartedly, and, if need be, sacrifice his own to ensure that Louis survived.

'Captain?' D'Artagnan looked up at the sound of Caroline's voice. The elderly nun, who had been the queen mother's personal consort for more than twenty years, stood before him. 'Her Majesty would like a word with you.' D'Artagnan stood and walked around his desk so that he stood in front of it. Caroline smiled at him, and left his office, leaving him alone with Louis' mother.

'Your Majesty,' he said softly, bowing slightly. She stood, erect and poised in front of him, her face an image of calm and serenity.

'I heard of what happened to the son of Athos,' she said quietly. 'I know that he is one of your oldest friends.' D'Artagnan gave a nod of agreement. 'I am sorry.'

'Thank you,' he replied.

'Will you please let Athos know that he has my condolences?'

'Of course.' D'Artagnan looked up and met her eyes, holding their gaze for several seconds.

'Did Louis have him killed, D'Artagnan?' she said suddenly, and D'Artagnan's eyes widened in surprise. She was staring at him with such pain and guilt on her face that he was not quite sure how to respond.

'Please, do not trouble yourself with thoughts like that,' he said evasively. Her brow furrowed, but she did not press him, for she knew that there were many things she had kept from him that he had every right to know. 'Thank you for taking the time, my lady,' he said. She nodded, then turned and left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

D'Artagnan walked slowly around the perimeters of the palace, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes alertly scanning the grounds. His eyes were filled with concern – the assassination attempt on Louis at the garden party had been the fourth in as many months, and he wanted to take no chances with the king's life. So, he was out patrolling the grounds when really he ought to have been asleep hours ago. He sighed, and stopped, having caught a glimpse of movement near one of the palace walls. As he watched with narrowed eyes, a rat scampered across the top of the stone and out of sight. Breathing a light sigh of relief, he continued on. His mind wandered back to the garden party, the place where Louis had met the beautiful Christine. Anger surged through him as he thought of Raoul, Athos' son, and the showdown that had followed when Athos came to the palace in search of revenge. Although he had been sympathetic to his friend's plight, he knew that he had to protect Louis above everything else, but it had pained him to see his friend experiencing such grief – grief that Louis had been directly responsible for. D'Artagnan had loved Raoul like a son, and he would have liked nothing more than to have exercised revenge on Louis himself for what he had done, but his honour had, of course, got the better of him. And now he knew that subconsciously, although he hated to admit, he was patrolling the boundaries so late at night in case Athos returned to the palace with the intent of assassinating the king. He not only wanted to keep Louis alive, he also wanted to make sure that if Athos did return, he met only D'Artagnan, and would not be sent to the

gallows for attempted treason.

He rounded the corner of the palace and headed towards the chapel. Lieutenant Andre was walking towards him.

'Captain,' he said upon reaching him. 'We have done a full check of everything you told us to, twice. It is all secure.' D'Artagnan nodded.

'Thank you Lieutenant,' he replied. 'Tell your men they may retire for the night, and thank them for me.' The lieutenant nodded.

'Thank you, Captain,' he said. D'Artagnan watched as Andre strode back towards the musketeer's quarters, and then continued on towards the chapel. He slowed and watched carefully as he approached, because he saw that there was light coming from inside, and his mind invariably jumped to the worst. He went cautiously up the steps and stopped at the door, listening closely. Confusion swept across his face, and he stepped closer. Could it be? Yes, it was… the sound of a woman weeping. His breath caught in his throat, and a single word entered his mind; Anne. He pushed the door open a crack, and peered through. Yes, there she was, her grey skirts spread out behind her, her long dark hair tumbling down her back. His heart quickened as he watched her, head bowed, crying softly. She was saying something, but he couldn't quite make out what it was, and he took a step forward in curiosity. She looked so mesmerising and vulnerable, and he felt his heart expand for her. He very rarely saw her, but moments like this were what he lived for, moments when he could watch her, listen to her voice and breathe in the scent of her hair and skin. She was, quite simply, the love of his life, and he had known it for more than 20 years. He watched her for a few more seconds, and then, growing increasingly worried about how upset she was, he walked towards her. When he was about two yards away from her, he stopped.

'My lady?' He referred to her this way out of respect – he always did until he felt it appropriate to call her by her name. The queen mother's head spun around, and D'Artagnan saw that her cheeks were glistening with tears. He said nothing more, and made no move towards her, simply stood in front of her and waited for her to react. She stood, slowly, and turned so that she was facing him. She made no move to wipe the tears from her face, or straighten her dress. She stared at him for what seemed like a long time, and then another tear slipped down her cheek.

'D'Artagnan,' she said, pain and relief laced through her voice. Then, to his great surprise, she took two fast steps towards him, and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck, weeping freely now. He breathed out a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around her slight frame. For a long time they simply stood, holding each other, and he allowed her to cry. Finally, she pulled back a little, her hands still lingering in his hair and on his neck, his own hands encircling her waist. He looked into her eyes questioningly, and finally said,

'What is it? Tell me what's wrong.' Instead of answering his question, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. For a moment, out of sheer want, he returned the kiss, savouring the texture of her skin, but then he quickly pulled back, shaking his head. 'We can't. We will be sent straight to the gallows if anybody sees us.'

'That has never stopped us before,' came the reply. He smiled softly at her, and lifted a hand to her cheek.

'Please,' he said. 'Tell me what's wrong.' She pulled herself gently away from him and turned back towards the altar. 'Anne?' he said questioningly. She looked back at him and smiled.

'It's nothing,' she said. 'I just… I get lonely sometimes, and…' She trailed off, thinking of the son she had never told him about, and wondering how he would react if he knew. He stared at her, trying to interpret her expression, knowing that she was lying to him, but he could gather no clues. He gave a tilt of his head, indicating that he would question her no further and she relaxed her posture a little. 'Did you follow me here?' she asked him. He shook his head.

'Of course not. I was patrolling the grounds and saw a light on. I thought you would have been asleep.' She nodded.

'You don't usually patrol so late, do you?'

'No,' he answered truthfully. 'But I am uneasy. The attempts are coming too often. It is an extra precaution.' She nodded.

'Thank you,' she said. He shrugged.

'Of course.' She suddenly smiled wistfully as she remembered him as a young man, standing before her and shrugging just like that. He had done it on that fateful night 20 years ago that they had both sworn they would never repeat. Of course, they had repeated it several times, when an opportunity stared them in the face, but they never sought each other out. D'Artagnan smiled back at her, thinking much the same thing. He walked to her, cupped her face in his hands, and lifted it to his lips. This kiss was longer, more passionate, and harder to break away from. When they finally did part, he took her hands in his and sighed.

'It is late, my darling. You should head up to bed.' She nodded.

'I know.' Instead, she lifted a hand to his face and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. 'D'Artagnan?' she whispered. He pressed his forehead against hers and wrapped his arms around her waist.

'Anne?' he replied.

'You know that I love you?' Her voice was laced with worry, and he tightened his grip on her.

'Yes,' he said.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'For everything. You deserve better than this secrecy.' He pressed his lips to her cheek and then smiled at her.

'Even if I do deserve better, I do not want it. I would rather be here with you apart for the rest of my life than out in the countryside with a wife whom I could love openly. Anne, you are the only woman I have ever, and will ever love. I want, and need, nothing more.' She smiled and kissed him lightly.

'Thank you,' she said. He smiled.

'Go to bed.' She nodded.

'Good night.'

'Good night,' he replied. She touched his face, and then turned and left the chapel, closing the door behind her. He felt his heart tug as he watched her go, but he made no move to follow her. Instead, when the door was closed, he turned and faced the altar, closing his eyes and savouring the presence of her in the room.

He stood like that, motionless, for some time, then abruptly turned and left the chapel himself, to return to the patrol that kept his king safe.


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

D'Artagnan stood in his office, staring intently down at the note in his hands. _'The tomb, midnight,' _it read. It was signed with a simple, _A_. The A surely stood for Aramis rather than Athos, for though the Inseparables had met many times in the tomb, it had always been at Aramis' bidding. The instructions to meet there, had, however, never been this secret. D'Artagnan had been given the note whilst riding through a back alleyway of Paris on his way back to the palace from visiting one of the men wounded when Athos had come to the musketeers quarters. A beggar had fallen in front of D'Artagnan's grey steed, and when he stood he patted the horse affectionately before apologising and turning away. It was not until D'Artagnan had returned to the palace and taken the saddle off his mount that he noticed the parchment wedged between two of the leather fasteners. He sighed, knowing that if Louis discovered he had met in secret with his three old friends, that he would have some explaining to do. For reasons that D'Artagnan was unsure of, the king despised the retired musketeers, and feared them greatly. Of course, D'Artagnan knew that his friends were not sympathisers with the king, and knew also that they disapproved of his own unwavering loyalty towards the young man, but unfortunately there was not a lot he could do about that. He was not prepared to give up any of them.

D'Artagnan arrived at the tomb beneath Paris' oldest cathedral several minutes before Athos and Porthos, and found Aramis sitting alone at the dusty old table in the centre of the room.

'Aramis,' he said walking forward with arms extended. Aramis smiled and stood.

'Ah, old friend,' he said, embracing D'Artagnan tightly. 'How have you been?' D'Artagnan shrugged, smiling.

'I cannot really complain. Is all well with you?'

'All well, all well,' Aramis said. 'Although, Athos did inform me of what has recently occurred. I was greatly saddened to hear of Raoul's death.' D'Artagnan nodded.

'As was I. I know we all thought of that boy as though he were our own.'

'Athos is now under the impression that you are part of the reason why his son is no longer with him.' D'Artagnan sighed heavily.

'Aramis… It was war. Nobody can be held responsible.' Aramis looked at his friend carefully, his eyes narrowing in disappointment.

'I am not sure why you refuse to hold the king accountable, but I will not press you,' he said simply. The door to the tomb opened and Porthos walked in, followed closely by Athos, who looked shock to see that D'Artagnan was there. D'Artagnan looked to Aramis for an explanation, and the priest shrugged.

'I knew that if you knew D'Artagnan would be here, you would not have agreed to come,' he told Athos who threw his hands up in anger and sat at the table. Aramis nodded. 'Come, let's all sit,' he said. The four men sat around the stone slab and waited for Aramis to speak. 'Old friends,' he began. 'When we were young musketeers, we fought injustice when we saw it. We were brash, and brave, and cared little for our own safety or comfort.' He looked at each of his friends, none of whom spoke. 'There is something you all must know; I am the secret General of the Order of the Jesuits.' Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan all stared at the priest, not quite believing what they had just heard – their old friend was the leader of a group who were attempting, time and time again, to kill the king.

'Really?' Porthos said, bewilderment in his voice. 'But Aramis… Louis told you weeks ago to have the General killed.' Aramis nodded.

'He did indeed, Porthos. He, of course, does not know that it is I.' Athos cleared his throat.

'You took a great risk in telling _him_ this, didn't you?' he said, indicating D'Artagnan, who shifted uncomfortably.

'No, Athos, I did not. D'Artagnan's sense of loyalty and devotion is not only to the king. I am not under the impression that he would betray any of us to anybody. Am I right?'

'Of course, Aramis,' D'Artagnan said. 'But…'

'Good,' Aramis said, cutting him off.

'What are we here for Aramis,' Porthos suddenly said. 'What is your plan?' Aramis smiled and leant forward.

'Replace the king,' he said. 'The wheels are already in motion.' D'Artagnan shook his head.

'No. I cannot listen to this,' he said. Athos looked up at him in disgust.

'I am with you, Aramis,' he said, turning to the priest. Aramis looked at Porthos, who nodded.

'But how?' he said. 'It must be impossible without open war or revolution.'

'Fine by me,' said Athos. 'I am still with you.'

'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' Aramis said, leaning back and smiling contentedly. 'There will be no war, and there will be no revolution. There is another way. It started the night that Louis was born.' D'Artagnan's head snapped up suddenly, staring at Aramis, who seemed oblivious to his reaction.

'What do you mean, Aramis?' Porthos said. 'I am confused already.'

'There is a look alike, Porthos,' Aramis said. 'There is a man of the same age as the king, who looks exactly like him.' Porthos, D'Artagnan and Athos stared at Aramis, trying to make sense of what they were being told.

'Aramis,' Athos finally said. 'How could there be such a man?'

'Because, dear Athos, on the night that Louis was born, so was a second child. The king has a twin brother.' Athos and Porthos were visibly surprised by the news, but D'Artagnan was gripped by such a sense of shock, that he stood quickly, causing his chair to topple over. His breathing quickened, and his heart rate sped up.

'My God,' he said, turning away to face the wall. He brought his hands up to his face and stood very still. 'My God,' he repeated.

'D'Artagnan?' Aramis said. D'Artagnan turned to face his friends.

'I'm sorry,' he stammered. 'I can't…' He turned suddenly and strode to the door, flinging it open. His three friends watched in surprise as he left. Within seconds Aramis was on his feet.

'Wait here,' he said to the other two as he ran out of the tomb. He caught D'Artagnan halfway up the narrow stone stairwell. 'D'Artagnan!' he called. 'D'Artagnan, please, wait a moment.' The musketeer stopped and turned, facing Aramis who stood several steps below him. 'D'Artagnan, don't you see how it is an ingenious plan? The king need not die, we can simply replace him with a man who is so similar that nobody will be able to tell the difference.' D'Artagnan stared at his friend, and Aramis noted with great surprise that there were tears welling in his eyes.

'Aramis,' he said. 'Where has the boy been all this time?' Aramis sighed.

'Until he was fourteen he lived in the country with an old woman and a Jesuit. Then the old king died, and on his deathbed informed Louis of the boy's existence. Louis had him thrown into prison. He has been there for the last six years, wearing a mask made of iron so that nobody would recognise him.' D'Artagnan let out a gasp and leant back against the wall of the stairwell. 'D'Artagnan?' Aramis said, curiosity in his voice. 'What is this secret you are keeping from us? I know there is something that you are not revealing to us. I would know it even if I were not a priest. Whatever it is, you do not have to bear it alone.' D'Artagnan stared down at his friend.

'I must go,' he said, and he turned and left. Aramis sighed and let his friend leave, knowing that their plan was still safe from the ears of Louis. He would trust D'Artagnan with his life.

D'Artagnan ran up the stairs to the palace, his mind racing. Twins. The queen had had twins. He entered the main foyer and went up the East staircase, walking briskly down the corridor towards the queen's chambers. He stopped outside her door, sighed, and then continued walking until he reached Caroline's room. He knocked briskly on her door, regretting the fact that he was waking her. He heard shuffling footsteps, and then the door opened. The old woman stood before him, sleep still apparent in her eyes.

'D'Artagnan?' she murmured.

'Caroline,' he said. 'I am sorry to do this to you, but I am afraid it is most urgent that I speak with her Majesty. Would you please go to her and ask that she meet me in the chapel as soon as she can? It is very important.' Caroline nodded, knowing that D'Artagnan would not be requesting a private audience with the queen unless it really was urgent and came out into the corridor.

'Go,' she said over her shoulder as she walked towards the queen's chambers. 'She will meet you there.'

D'Artagnan nodded and walked back towards the staircase, heading for the chapel. When he got there he lit some candles for light, then sat in front of the altar to wait. The word 'twins' was circling in his mind, as were images of another man, the brother of Louis. He rubbed his eyes, overcome by the magnitude of what he had been told. He heard steps behind him, and turned to see the queen mother closing the door of the chapel behind her. He stood, and she turned to face him, her hair tied loosely back, her nightclothes billowing around her. She saw immediately that something was terribly wrong, and started to go to him, but he held up a hand, signalling for her to stop, and she did so, confusion on her face.

'D'Artagnan?' she asked. He took a deep breath.

'There were two?' he said. Her eyes widened, and she took a step backwards.

'How did you…?' she stammered? 'Who told you?' He stared at her.

'It is true?' he gasped.

'Who told you?' she repeated.

'Aramis,' he said. 'Anne, why didn't you?' She sank to the ground and covered her face with her hands. D'Artagnan rushed to her and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. 'Anne, why didn't you tell me that there were two?' She took a deep breath and lifted her face so that she was looking directly at him. Her face was already wet with tears.

'They told me that he had died at birth. For fourteen years I believed that he was dead. I did not want to tell you that there had been another who had died, I didn't want to put you through that. And then, when the king was on his deathbed, he told Louis and I that the boy lived. Louis immediately ordered that he be imprisoned, that nobody be allowed to see his face, that he be guarded closely. Of course there was nothing that I could do for him then.'

'You could have told me. I would have gotten him out.' Anne nodded.

'I know that you would have tried,' she said. 'But you might have been killed. And even if you succeeded, you would leave the palace and take him somewhere far away from where Louis could get at him. You had so much to bear dealing with one son who was not a good person… What if I had given you two? I'm sorry, I really am, I was being selfish. I had lost one son, or believed that I had – you were everything that to me. I could not lose you.' Anne looked up into D'Artagnan's eyes, and saw that he too was crying. 'I'm sorry,' she sobbed. 'I'm so sorry.' He leant forward and wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to cry

her apologies into his chest. He closed his eyes and stroked her hair, kissing her head absentmindedly.

'It's all right,' he said. 'It's all right.' She sniffed and leant back from him, rubbing the tears from her eyes. She shook her head.

'No it isn't. When you found me here the other night, when I was crying? Louis and I had just received word that he had died in prison. Plague, they said. They burnt the body.' D'Artagnan stared at her, trying to process what she had just told him. Finally he shook his head, remembering Aramis' words; _'The wheels are already in motion.'_

'No,' he said. 'I don't think he is.' Anne looked up at her lover in apprehension.

'What do you mean?' she asked.

'I just came from the old cathedral,' he said. 'Aramis held a meeting with Porthos, Athos and I. The Jesuits want to replace Louis with this boy. He mustn't be dead.'

'Replace Louis?' Anne said, fear in her voice. 'But what would they do to him?'

'I don't know exactly, but Aramis said that nobody had to die. I didn't stay long, I came straight here as soon as he said there had been two.'

'Maybe the Jesuits haven't heard yet,' she said, and she closed her eyes, trying to picture the son she had never known.

'Hope, Anne,' D'Artagnan said, gripping her shoulders. 'Perhaps he is still alive. I will speak to Aramis, I will find out.' Suddenly Anne looked up at him, alarm in her eyes.

'Do they all know now?' she asked. 'Did you tell them about us?'

'No, my darling, of course not. Although Aramis definitely suspected something.' He smiled at her. 'Don't worry about a thing.' He kissed her cheek and then stood. 'I am going to go back and find Aramis,' he said. 'We will find this boy yet.' He smiled at the queen, sitting on the stone floor of the chapel, surrounded by candles. 'You look beautiful, Anne,' he said. She smiled, and stood,, stepping into his embrace. After a few moments she drew back and played with his hair.

'Go,' she said. 'Go and find out all that you can.' He nodded, then turned and strode out of the chapel to find his Aramis, and his son.


	4. Chapter 4

_This is a flashback, my version of events of how Anne and D'Artagnan's relationship may have begun. In Randall Wallace's film, Anne's attendant appears to be privy to the secrets, so I have included her in here. I am also aware that I change P. through this chapter, from D'Artagnan to Anne - it happened naturally, and although it's not grammatically correct, I'm keeping it like that. :)  
Hopefully the rest of this story will fluctuate between the present day (ie with the grown up twins) and the past where Anne's pregnancy will unfold, as will the birth, and childhood of Louis, and her relations with D'Artagnan etc.  
As always, I own nothing. _

Chapter Four

D'Artagnan stood to attention and focussed on his opponent. Luc, the musketeer facing him, shuffled nervously, his eyes full of fear. D'Artagnan grinned at him, a slightly arrogant pride bubbling up inside of him. He was glad to be the prodigy of the Captain, Jacques, and of the attention that he received. He cleared his throat and concentrated, trying to push those thoughts out of his mind. It was becoming easier, especially with Aramis' help – Aramis seemed intent on quashing all notions of pride within the young musketeer. "Humility, D'Artagnan," was his catchphrase. D'Artagnan breathed in deeply, smelling the grass and the horses, a soft smell of roses from closer to the palace… the palace. D'Artagnan turned in curiosity and looked up at the windows above the rose garden. And just like that, his breath was gone, completely knocked out of him, and he struggled for balance. She was standing there, so young and so beautiful, and so incredibly sad. And her dark eyes were looking straight at him, he was certain of it. For several seconds the two remained frozen, until with one push on the windowsill, Anne of Austria, Queen of France, disappeared from view.

'Attack!' cried the Captain.

D'Artagnan swung back to the action in time to see Luc, emboldened by his opponents' apparent distraction, lunging at him with a considerable amount of force. With a grunt, and with several backwards steps, D'Artagnan parried the attack and regained control of the fight, lunging at Luc until he tripped over and lay at D'Artagnan's feet. D'Artagnan frowned and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He had very nearly lost control of himself, and given the practice fight to Luc. All because of a pair of dark eyes… The image of her face caused him to gasp in a lungful of air and place his hands on his knees so that his head was bowed. He could feel the blood pulsing in his temple, and he closed his eyes, trying to think of horse breeds to distract himself. But it was no use, for the face of his Queen reappeared in his mind over and over, her sad, dark eyes, and her penetrating gaze at him. It was not the first time that he had caught her watching him in the practice fields. She had seen him try out different mounts, and practice with muskets and swords. And this was not the first time that he had caught her watching, but it was the first time that she had unashamedly held his gaze when he did so. He suddenly felt ill, as if his stomach was turning over inside of him. He shook his head and opened his eyes, staring at the grass. He then felt a hand pat him lightly on the shoulder, and heard the Captain's voice.

'What is this?' he exclaimed. 'D'Artagnan, tired?'

On the ground Luc grimaced as he rose, and D'Artagnan swung around to face his Captain.

'No sir!' he exclaimed. The Captain nodded and smiled at Luc.

'Ah dear, Luc,' he said. 'I am sorry you fell. Perhaps try one of the parries we have been practising all week?' Luc sighed. The Captain raised his voice and addressed his squad of musketeers. 'Men! Good work today, now you may go and wash down your horses, and prepare for the evening meal. D'Artagnan, come here a moment.' D'Artagnan approached Jacques eagerly, happy to be distracted from his treasonous thoughts.

'Yes sir?'

'You are to take this message to the king,' Jacques said. 'It is most confidential, so I am trusting only you with it. Go now.'

D'Artagnan took the piece of rolled parchment and marched towards the palace, trying to imagine what could be in the letter. He walked up the grand staircase and into the entrance hall, pausing for a moment to wonder at its lush grandeur. The marble double staircase in front of him loomed, and he took a deep breath before taking it to the second floor. He took the East corridor in the direction of King Louis XIII's private chambers and office, and listened to the sound of his own steps echoing around the walls. Coming up on his left now, he knew, was the adjoining corridor that would take him to the queen's chambers, and the door facing him at the end, some hundred metres in front him, was the door to the office of His Majesty. He closed his eyes as he approached the queen's corridor, willing himself not to look down it towards the double doors behind which lay the window from which she had been watching him. He concentrated on his steps and his breathing until suddenly he collided with somebody.

'Oh!' he cried. He opened his eyes and found that he was gripping the upper arm of Queen Anne herself, who was looking at him very intensely. 'Your Majesty,' he said, dropping her arm as though it were made of fire. 'I… excuse me my lady, I do apologise.' To his great surprise, he detected a faint smile on her lips. She plucked at the dark blue silk of her large skirts, and he took in her appearance – her dark hair piled regally on top of her head, the lace around her neck framing her face, her delicate hands with their bracelets and rings. And her beautiful, young face. How old was she, he tried to remember. Younger than he, for certain. Seventeen? Eighteen?

'D'Artagnan.' She interrupted his thoughts.

'Your Majesty, I… You know my name?' His heart fluttered.

'I do,' she replied. Again the slight smile. 'Of course I do.'

'My lady I have a message to deliver to his majesty if I may be allowed to…'

'What were you doing walking along this corridor with your eyes shut?' The question caught D'Artagnan by surprise and he stuttered a moment and dropped the parchment. He gasped and bent to retrieve it, but she had sunk to the floor faster than he, and was already rising with it in one of her beautiful hands. 'Here you are,' she whispered. Their hands touched as the paper was transferred, and both of them immediately looked up at each other, aware of the electricity that had passed through them. Her eyes widened, and she looked almost afraid.

'My lady, I beg you…' D'Artagnan stuttered, and her face suddenly composed itself, and she turned from him, her hands clutching her abdomen.

'Go,' she said, and he knew it to be an order. He turned and half-ran down the remainder of the corridor, where he blustered his way through delivering the message to the king, and then hurriedly made his way outside. The fresh air was a relief to him, and he gasped it in as though he had been deprived of it for a great deal of time. He looked up at Anne's window and saw her sitting at the window, her face buried in her hands.

Anne was not surprised that she had physically felt something when she had touched D'Artagnan, but she was most surprised at its intensity. She had nearly fallen! The searing pain she had felt through her core had been shocking, and she had stopped pressing him for information immediately, afraid by the intensity of her feelings. She closed her eyes. She had never felt like this before. She could not get the musketeers' face out of her mind, and at all moments of every day she craved his company, his words, his touch. Things she had never really had before from anyone. She wanted _him_. She sat down on the chair next to the window and put her face in her hands.

At midnight, Anne was still awake, sitting by her window looking down at the rose garden. It had been weeks since the first time she and D'Artagnan had touched, and yet the intensity of her feelings had, if anything, grown. She hardly saw him, and yet she felt he was what she lived for. Just as this thought passed through her mind she glimpsed movement amongst the roses, and focused. There was a man moving through the garden in the direction of the stables. Suddenly, she didn't know how, she knew that it was he. She followed his movement with her eyes for a few moments, and then, without thinking, stood and moved away from her window. She almost floated down the corridor and the side stairs of the palace, and moved through the garden herself as though she were a ghost. She didn't slow until she reached the stables, and only then did she contemplate her actions. She stood, on the gravel between two long rows of stables in the dark, and closed her eyes. This was wrong. She knew nothing of him – maybe he had a family! She took a deep breath and turned back towards the palace, when,

'My lady?' With a gasp she turned to face him. D'Artagnan was standing before her, having come out of one of the stables, bridle in hand. 'Are you lost?' He was wearing breeches and a white shirt, which hung loosely and sensuously around his body. He looked strong and calm in comparison to what she imagined she must look like – in stiff grey silk, with her hair piled on her head, she thought she must look like a frightened dove.

'No,' she replied. 'I…' she trailed off and looked down at her hands, unsure of how to proceed.

'Your majesty, you are not supposed to be here,' he continued, but he had put the bridle on the stable door and taken a step towards her.

'I followed you here,' she said abruptly. He stopped, and his eyes widened.

'Why?' he said. They stood and looked at each other for a long time. She shook her head. Finally, she whispered,

'You know why.' He sighed and, to her surprise, nodded.

'Yes,' he said. She could hardly breathe – her chest was rising and falling rapidly. She looked up into his face – into his handsome, kind face – and took a deep breath.

'It is treason,' she whispered. 'I know that.' He nodded.

'As do I. But…' He paused and looked at her intently. 'I love you. I know it is wrong, but I love you more than anything.' Anne closed her eyes and rocked on the spot, trying to keep her balance.

'For months I have been trying to convince myself that I don't love you,' she said softly. 'But it is no use. You are all I think about.' She met his gaze, and could see that his chest was rising and falling as rapidly as her own. Her heart was beating so hard she feared he could hear it from where he stood. 'D'Artagnan…' the queen murmured, and she reached out for him.

In two strides he had reached her and lowered his mouth onto hers. She gasped as he kissed her, but within seconds she was kissing him back with everything she had. He had one arm locked around her tiny waist, pulling her closer to him, and his other hand was in her hair, cradling her head. Her stomach was doing somersaults, and she felt as though she was losing all strength in her legs.

'D'Artagnan,' she finally managed to murmur. She ran her hands through his hair. 'I want you.' He leant back and studied her face, and she ran her thumb over his lips, allowing him to kiss it as she did so. He cradled her face in his hands, and then leaned forward and kissed her again, lightly this time. He then took her hand and led her into the stable where he had come from. There was no horse in it, merely tackle, and a lot of hay.

'Your majesty,' he murmured, turning around. 'I don't…' He spread his hands out before him and looked around. Then he shook his head. 'You are the Queen of France,' he said. She saw immediately his problem and walked quickly to him, taking his hands in her own.

'No,' she murmured, smiling up at him. 'My name is Anne.' She tugged on his shirt, pulling it out from his breeches, and pushed it up so it came over his head, and he stood before her, his chest bare. She leant forward and kissed it softly, twice, and then looked back at up him.

'Anne,' he said. She smiled.

Emboldened, he leant down and kissed her again, this time with much more force, as he allowed the need inside of him to come to the surface. She responded in kind, and within moments they were lying in the hay, and taking their love further than they had ever intended.

**************

'Anne?' D'Artagnan said softly. The queen stirred, moving her head from where it lay on the musketeer's shoulder to look up at him.

'Yes?'

'You weren't asleep?'

'No,' she replied. 'Just thinking.' D'Artagnan kissed her hair and tightened his grip around her bare shoulders. She kissed his neck and placed her left arm over his body, hugging him lightly.

'We need to go,' he said. 'It will get light in a few hours.' She groaned lightly, and then sat up and reached for her shift, pulling the white cotton over her head. He smiled at her, and pulled some strands of hay from her hair. Then he, too, stood, and began to dress. Neither of them spoke again until he was helping her to fasten the clasps on the back of her silk dress.

'What will we do?' Anne said. D'Artagnan hesitated, and sighed.

'There is nothing we can do,' he replied. 'This cannot happen again.' For a few moments, the queen said nothing. 'You know that, don't you?' he asked.

'I do,' she said softly. She bowed her head, and he felt her body shudder as she let out a sob. He turned her around to face him, and let her bury her face in his neck. To his surprise, he found his own eyes welling with tears, and he held tightly to her, inhaling the scent of her hair.

'It is high treason, my darling,' he said. 'We would be killed if discovered.' Anne tightened her grip on his shirt.

'I know.' She took a deep breath and leant back to look at him. 'We cannot be together. It is for the best. It is the right thing.' D'Artagnan closed his eyes and sighed, trying not to cry. He felt her delicate hands come up and touch his face, and within moments his cheeks were wet. She leant up and kissed the tears as they ran down his face, and whispered in his ear. 'I won't stop loving you, darling,' she said. He tightened his grip on her waist.

'And I shan't stop loving you,' he responded. Through their tears, the young lovers smiled at each other. D'Artagnan lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, kissing her softly, tenderly. She responded, entangling her hands in his hair. Finally, they let go of one another and stood for a moment in the dark stall, listening to the sounds of their breathing. 'Go,' he said. 'Go now.' Anne let out a sob, and kissed him roughly on the lips, then rushed out of the stable. She ran down between the stalls, past the sleeping horses, and back into the empty gardens, her dark skirts billowing behind her, her hair falling around her face. She didn't stop running until she reached her room, where she closed the door behind her and leant against it, clutching at her stomach and crying openly. She heard a door open and looked up to see her attendant, the nun Caroline, who had been her nursemaid as well, and had accompanied her to Paris from Austria, enter her bedroom from her own adjoining room.

'Your majesty,' she said. 'Where have you been?' In response, Anne let out a sob and sank to the floor, hugging herself tightly. 'My lady,' the nun said. 'Talk to me.' Anne shook her head and sniffed.

'Treason,' she whispered. Caroline knelt down in front of the young queen and studied her face.

'The boy?' she guessed. 'The musketeer?' Anne looked up into the older woman's face in confusion.

'How did you… How did you know?' Caroline smiled.

'It is my job to watch over you, my child,' she replied. 'I have seen your distress.' She paused. 'What happened?' Anne shook her head.

'Something that wasn't supposed to. And that will never happen again.' Ignoring her position and rank, Anne leant forward into her attendant's embrace.

'It is for the best, my lady,' Caroline said. 'But I am sorry.' She hesitated. 'You must confess to your sin.'

'How can I?' Anne retorted. 'I am the queen of France! I cannot confess to adultery.'

'You have confessed to me,' the nun said. 'I will see the Father and find a way to rid your soul of it.'

Anne nestled closer into the older woman's embrace and closed her eyes. The two women sat like that, on the floor of the queen's chambers, until daybreak began to filter in through the curtains.


	5. Chapter 5

_Back to present day now. :)_

FIVE

D'Artagnan went straight back to the tomb in search of his friends, but when he got there the sparse underground room was empty. In frustration, he climbed the stairwell back up to the street, where he mounted his grey steed and rode quickly through the empty streets towards Aramis' rooms. He quickly ascertained that the priest was still awake, for light shone from his windows. D'Artagnan tied his horse in the street and ran to Aramis' door.

'Aramis!' he cried, pounding on the wooden frame. 'Aramis?' Finally he heard footsteps.

'All right, all right,' he heard his friend grumble, and then the door was thrown wide open. 'D'Artagnan!' the priest said, visibly surprised. 'Come in.' The two friends walked into Aramis' rooms, where they found Athos and Porthos seated at the table studying maps.

'What have _you_ returned for?' Athos scowled. D'Artagnan regarded the musketeer passively and then turned to Aramis.

'I have come to question you about the second son,' he said. 'The… the twin.'

'You have?' Aramis said, somewhat surprised. He gestured at the table indicating that D'Artagnan should sit, as he did so himself.

'Yes. Is he… he is alive, then?' Aramis raised an eyebrow.

'He is.'

'Where is he?'

'He is being kept just outside of a village a days ride from here.'

'Aramis,' Athos interrupted. 'Should we really be telling him this? He is probably intending to take it all back with him to the king, as that is surely where he has come from.' D'Artagnan shifted uncomfortably.

'Athos, I have not just come from the king,' he retorted. 'I have no intentions of getting any of you into trouble – you are all my oldest and closest friends.' Athos snorted. D'Artagnan returned his intention to Aramis, who he was aware was watching him very closely. 'So the boy – he is well?'

'As well as can be expected,' Aramis replied. 'He is quite underweight and haggard – the iron mask is not, I fear, a forgiving companion. He remains quite a sensitive and cautious person.' D'Artagnan tried to keep his face impassive, but he knew that he must be giving certain emotions away – such as the torment he felt at hearing that his own son had been confined in such a monstrous way.

'Aramis… How did you know of this boy?' Here, it was Aramis' turn to shift uncomfortably, as all eyes were directed on him – clearly, Athos and Porthos had not heard this part of the story yet either.

'I am most ashamed, but… It was I who took the second child away from the queen at birth, at the order of the king. And it was I who followed out Louis' order six years ago to shut the boy in the mask. I am not proud of my role in this at all, and this plan is partly my attempt at atonement.' Aramis looked up at the astonished faces of his friends, but lingered on that of D'Artagnan, whose face was both astonished and appalled.

'You?' he breathed. 'You did that to the boy?'

'I don't understand,' Porthos interrupted. 'How did you just 'take the child away'? What of the queen? Did she just hand him over?' Here, D'Artagnan spoke impulsively,

'She was told that he had died at birth. She didn't know of his existence for fourteen years.' Not until he had spoken these words did D'Artagnan realize that he was not meant to know the answer to that question. Aramis in particular was staring at his old friend, as realization dawned on him.

'D'Artagnan!' he breathed. 'That's your secret? That's where you have just come from?' Athos and Porthos shared bewildered looks.

'What are you talking about now, Aramis?' Porthos complained. 'My poor brain cannot keep up.'

'Aramis,' D'Artagnan murmured. 'Please…' Here it comes, he thought to himself. He had let out the secret that he and Anne had tried so hard to conceal for so many years. He suddenly felt so weary, and so weighed down by the weight of the betrayal that he could hardly wait for it to be lifted. But at the same time – to have it come out like this, and without Anne's knowledge…

'But it all makes sense!' the priest said, disregarding his friends' plea. 'That is why you are so devoted to the king… why you have never married. Why you reacted as you did just hours ago when I told you of the twin. And why you got so incredibly drunk on the night of his birth.'

'Aramis, what is going on?' Athos interrupted.

'There is a resemblance, I suppose…' Aramis continued.

'Aramis, if you don't explain what is going on soon, your face shall resemble my fist,' Porthos grumbled. Aramis looked up at D'Artagnan and raised his eyebrows slightly.

'I beg you,' the Captain whispered, 'Don't…'

'You are the king's father,' Aramis said simply. D'Artagnan winced and closed his eyes in defeat, willing himself to disappear. He heard the sharp intake of breath from Porthos and Athos, but could not bring himself to look up at them.

'Aramis!' Porthos cried. 'That is impossible!'

'Really, Aramis,' Athos interjected. 'Where did you pull that from?' But Aramis said nothing, and the other two quickly fell silent as D'Artagnan failed to defend his virtue, or to protest his innocence.

'And you never knew that you had two sons, not just one,' Aramis continued. D'Artagnan sighed and kneaded his temples.

'She never told me,' he said quietly. There was silence for a moment, and then,

'You fathered sons with the _queen of France_?' Athos exploded.

'Isn't that treason?' Porthos asked innocently.

'D'Artagnan, it's high treason!' Athos continued. 'Are you aware of what you have _done_? You both should have been executed years ago! Louis is not French royalty! How could you... How…'

'How did you manage to seduce the queen?' Porthos interjected.

'Porthos,' Aramis said. 'I don't think that….'

'All this time!' Athos ranted. 'All this time and you have had the queen of France as your _lover_?' D'Artagnan simply sat in defeat and let the words wash over him. The secret was out – both his love for Anne, and the paternity of the king, all at once.

'D'Artagnan,' Aramis said softly. 'It _is_ true?' The Captain looked up at his old friends, at their horror and astonishment, and sighed.

'It is true,' he said. 'And I deserve all of the criticisms you have for me. But nothing you say can match what I have said to myself – for I have had to live with this sin and its consequences for twenty years.'

'What was she?' Athos muttered. 'Your mistress?' D'Artagnan glared sharply at his friend.

'Do not forget it is still the queen mother of whom you speak,' he said harshly. 'And no, she was not my mistress. I love her. I did then and I do now.'

'D'Artagnan,' Aramis said. 'Was it she whom you rushed out of the tomb to see, earlier this evening?' D'Artagnan looked up wearily at the priest and sighed. What was the use of hiding now? The scandal was out, and the damage was done.

'Yes,' he said. 'Yes I went to see her.'

'And?' Porthos asked. 'What did she say?' D'Artagnan rubbed his eyes absentmindedly.

'She believes he is dead,' he said. 'Apparently she and Louis received word recently that he died of plague in the Bastille.' Aramis nodded.

'You may put her mind at ease. He is alive – the death was faked in order to aid our mission to release him from the Bastille. I assure you, he is well.'

'I assume Louis doesn't know you are his father,' Athos said. D'Artagnan shook his head.

'Of course not.'

'Does anybody?' Porthos asked with morbid enthusiasm. D'Artagnan looked up at his friends.

'Ah…' he murmured. 'Anne's attendant, Caroline. I believe Anne uses her as a confidante.' The three other musketeers looked dumbstruck, and for a moment D'Artagnan was confused, until he remembered that he had just referred to the queen mother by name.

'So, D'Artagnan,' Aramis said. 'What of our plan.'

'I presume you plan to replace Louis with his brother?'

'Yes,' the priest replied.

'Is he in any shape to rule?' Aramis fidgeted.

'Well… no. Not right now. But he shall be trained. We have a few weeks before the switch is to be made.'

'_Weeks_?' Athos interrupted. 'Aramis, how on earth do you propose to have it happen in several weeks?'

'With faith, dear Athos,' Aramis replied lightly.

'What would become of Louis?' D'Artagnan said softly. Aramis looked over at his friend and sighed.

'To be honest, D'Artagnan, up until now the plan had been to confine him to the mask in the Bastille as he did to his brother, but now…' D'Artagnan was shaking his head.

'No,' he whispered. 'I beg you, Aramis, no. I know he has been cruel, and that he is unfit to rule, but he does not deserve that! He has been spoilt and overindulged his entire life, and that has been his downfall.' Athos snorted, but D'Artagnan ignored him. 'Please don't do that to him.'

'My friend, knowing that he is your son, I do not know that I could do it, whether or not he deserved it. I could not do that to _you_.' D'Artagnan breathed out a sigh of relief. 'I will revisit that issue, and try to find an alternative for Louis.'

'Thank you, Aramis.'

'Aramis, when do we get to meet this boy?' Porthos asked. Aramis glanced around the table, his gaze lingering on D'Artagnan.

'Soon, I should think,' he said. 'I intend to go back to the village within several days, and I see no reason why you could not accompany me, as long as it is kept discreet. D'Artagnan, I…'

'I shall try to think of something,' D'Artagnan interrupted. 'I must see the boy… Aramis, what is his name?' Aramis smiled.

'He says that he was called Philippe as he was raised.' D'Artagnan nodded.

'Philippe,' he murmured. Aramis sighed.

'It is late, all of you,' he said. 'I must ask that you please let me alone now so that I may get my beauty sleep.' Porthos snorted, but stood nonetheless, and stretched. He then turned and grinned at D'Artagnan.

'All this time,' he said, 'I thought you had no talent when it came to women. But look at you, you sly dog!' He laughed, and Aramis smiled, but Athos remained as steely as ever. D'Artagnan glanced furtively at him, but Athos would not return his gaze. Aramis showed the musketeers out, and one by one they slipped off into the darkness. D'Artagnan rode back to the palace, exhausted, and worried, but also strangely content – he had a second son, a son who lived and knew nothing of wealth and royalty. And he could tell Anne that the younger of their twins had not succumbed to plague as she had been told. His mind whirling, he finally reached the palace and, deciding he would go to the queen in the morning, promptly went to bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks everyone for continuing to read and review! Sorry this isn't another chapter – I've just come back to it though, and I'm working on it.

In the meantime I've posted a new oneshot: s/9541069/1/Athos-learns-the-truth

Enjoy!


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